


A Four Letter Word

by tisziny



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blow Job, Dream Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 08:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21194384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisziny/pseuds/tisziny
Summary: Aziraphale gives into temptation the one place he feels truly free from the rules and politics of Above.





	A Four Letter Word

It was something that had taken Aziraphale by some surprise. He hadn’t really noticed himself doing it. Giving into his temptations. Giving into Crowley. It had started since they successfully (in a roundabout way) circumvented the Apocalypse. He’d sat on the bus from Tadfeild, in the seat next to Crowley and without even thinking he’d taken his hand. It wasn’t until they were preparing to disembark and Crowley had let go and Aziraphale felt the loss of the body warmth caught between their palms that he became aware of the touch at all.

In the days that followed, forbidden, unwritten,  _ new _ days they devised their plan together. They went to trial, Crowley doing his best to appear holy and light, Azirphale slouching just so and splashing holy water threateningly all the while scared out of his wits that he would be found out.

When they returned to Earth and to their respective corporations he gripped Crowley’s hand just a fraction longer than necessary and wondered if he could truly dare to imagine holding his hand without repercussions from Head Office. He continued this same thought over the next weeks and months, looking over his shoulder still half expecting to find Gabriel or Michael to appear before him and announce they’d seen through the wool pulled over their eyes. All the while unaware how he now sat closer to the demon as they fed the ducks, or brushed their fingers together when passing him a glass of his best vintage.

And these things happened a lot more now than they ever had in the last 6000 years. Truly he saw no one else now as often as he saw his demon.

“You’re doing it again, angel.”

Aziraphale looked up. Crowley was splayed lazily over the lounge in the bookshop, drink in hand, looking for all the world like the snake he was, basking in the sun. He gave Aziraphale a look, he was expecting a response. What was it he’d said?

“There you go, off into your own world.” Crowley muttered, “We only just saved this one, it’s a bit rude to go off and leave me here alone while you,” he gestured a hand vaguely through the air, “go, wherever it is you’re going.”

“My apologies. I was only thinking-”

“Well stop,” Crowley interrupted, placing his now empty glass aside. “It’s off putting.”

Aziraphale bristled, straightening in his own seat by his desk. "What do you suppose I do instead?"

"Just  _ relax _ ."

"What, like you; all draped about?"

The demon shrugged, "Couldn't hurt."

Aziraphale considered it a moment, then threw all caution to the wind and nodded. "All right then, move over."

"Wha'?"

"Move over, allow me to relax."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, but moved slightly to one side, his leg slipping down from the armrest to stretch out across the floor and free enough space that Aziraphale was able to join him on the lounge. It was a tight fit, their thighs pressed together from where Aziraphale had perched himself. 

"Oh for the love of-" Crowley muttered seeing the angel just as poised as he always was, "Relax angel, let yourself go. Pretend you're being me again, come on."

He slid further down in his seat to illustrate his point. 

Aziraphale watched him as Crowley's feet slid across his floor and his legs spread further. Immediately he flushed and pulled his gaze away. He decided to focus, try his hand at this once more and he leant back into the lounge. 

"There, that's better. A start at least," the demon acknowledged. 

"Now what?"

"Now? Now we just let time roll on by." Crowley's head fell back, his eyes drooping shut. "Have you ever napped angel."

"Oh, I suppose I have. Once or twice."

"Ever dream?"

"I can't say that I have." Aziraphale said curiously, “do you?”

“Not unless I want to,”

“Is it nice?”

“Depends on the dream I’spose.” Crowley yawned. “Lie down angel.”

Aziraphale looked over to see Crowley’s arms open and beckoning him in. Heaven be damned, the angel thought recklessly, and he gave in to temptation and lay his head in Crowley’s lap. He closed his eyes.

Could he dream, he wondered? He hoped so, after everything he’d been through these last eleven years, it sounded rather nice…

+*+*+*+

Aziraphale walked down the corridor of the converted convent, smiling slightly as he considered his companion. The demon sauntered along and Aziraphale felt oddly proud of him. 

"I've always said that deep down you really are quite a nice-"

The rest of his sentence was lost in his throat as Crowley slammed him to the closest wall. 

"Shut it," the demon hissed, his serpentine eyes glaring into Aziraphale from behind his sunglasses. 

"I'm a demon. I'm not nice. I'm never nice. Nice is a four letter word. I will not have it get out that an angel has been calling me  _ nice _ ."

That's odd. Thought Aziraphale. He hadn't said that the last time. And then he realised his own thoughts with a jump. Last time? He'd already done this. That woman, that strange former-nun had walked in and they'd started asking questions about Adam. Crowley had never even finished his sentence. 

This must be a dream then he realised, and his chest puffed up as he congratulated himself on the accomplishment of it. Crowley growled, his grip twisting around the front of Aziraphale's coat. It was remarkable how real it all felt. 

"Take it back," Crowley demanded, but Aziraphale barely heard him. 

My, this  _ had _ been rather intimate he thought to himself. He could feel the demon's body pressed into his own, the warmth, the weight. He could smell the faint tang of evil that surrounded him and it lit a proverbial fire inside him. This was wrong. But, he considered, this was a dream. 

The Almighty couldn't seem him here. Gabriel couldn't pop in for a surprise visit. No one would ever know. 

Least of all the demon himself, who would no doubt be as repulsed by the stirrings in Aziraphale's stomach and he had been at the idea he might be nice. 

But decision made Aziraphale charged onward without allowing himself to even consider backing down. His hands reached out winding around the demon’s back and his face inched forward until his lips touched Crowley's in a hungry kiss. 

The demon, never one to back down from an argument, met him with equal vigour. Their mouths slanted across each other and Crowley's hot tongue pushed forward, exploring Aziraphale's mouth. Oh God, the angel thought, had he ever tasted anything quite as good as this? 

He melted into Crowley’s touch, his fingers clenching into the back of his jacket. Crowley rocked his hips forward and it was with some alarm, but perhaps not surprise, that Aziraphale realised his body had- had-  _ reacted _ . He gasped, his head falling back and hitting the wall behind him.

“Oh yes,” he teased the demon. “Very nice indeed.”

“I am not-”

“Oh shut up and kiss me again, dear thing.” Aziraphale whispered, feeling a sense of confidence he never had when awake. “Show me how wicked you really are.”

The demon clenched his teeth, hissing through them at the angel. All at once he let go of Aziraphale’s lapel, hands instead going for his trousers. He made short work of opening them up and reaching in to undo the few buttons on Aziraphale’s crisp white givvies. The first touch of his hand against Aziraphale’s erection was firm but gentle. The angel gasped at the sensation, feeling his blood coursing through his body at a thunderous speed.

Crowley watched him carefully from behind his sunglasses, taking in the dilation of Aziraphale’s eyes, the jump of his pulse in his neck, his pearly white teeth pressing into his luscious lower lip. They kissed again, Crowley the one to lean in and claim him this time. Aziraphale moaned, clinging helplessly to the demon as his tongue plundered his mouth and his hand worked over his prick with practiced ease.

“You want wicked?” Crowley growled into their kiss, “I can show you wicked, angel.”

And he lowered himself to his knees.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but stare. This was perverted, lustful and damn near blasphemous. A demon on his knees, servicing an angel. But as Crowley lowered his mouth to Aziraphale’s dick, licking it with long strokes of his tongue, Aziraphale could only moan his appreciation. 

Crowley’s tongue was hot and wet, and was doing truly wondrous things to his body. His mouth even hotter, almost scalding. But in a most delightful way. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, his fingers coming to grip into the demon’s auburn hair.

Crowley sucked him deeper, until his lips brushed against white wiry curls and he pulled slowly back, lips dragging along the angel’s length. He repeated this, over and over, tip to curls, curls to tip. His hand came to wrap around him whenever his mouth was not, and his tongue -obscenely long and pointed Aziraphale came to notice- traced the ridges and veins along the way.

Aziraphale felt anticipation sliding through his body, muscle by muscle, blinded to the world around him. Blinded to everything but this.

“Oh precious life, sweet shining stars-” He babbled, his knees beginning to quake beneath him. “My darling, I feel- I feel so-”

Crowley had only his tip between his lips now, sucking and salving over him with his tongue. Aziraphale felt he may explode, and he could see Crowley knew it, expected it. And just as he thought it was all too much, the dastardly demon let him go. Crowley stood up, and with a quick snap of his fingers Azirpahle felt his boxer shorts and trousers refasten themselves around his aching prick.

“Crowley?” he asked, confused and breathless.

The demon smirked, his red hair coiffed back into place the way he liked it.

  
“Let’s get one thing clear between us angel,” he said stepping back, “I am never  _ nice _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this, it was my first dabble into writing Good Omens fic. Sorry its so short. Hopefully next time I can get something a little bit longer to post.
> 
> Also givvies are a type of boxers from the 40's. This is the ad i found for them...   
https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4ZEYvin8Y2Y/Vziq1KnCCTI/AAAAAAACMlk/2nvqkLHTgIY9CWZ9c-ShsQS3BQKpMgocwCLcB/s1600/vintage-mens-underwear-ads-3.jpg


End file.
